Roll Bounce
by The Bloody Red Queen Of Angst
Summary: "And he didn't suspect a thing." The continuation and possible end of the war between Kristean Mitchell and Akito Sohma of "Creatures of the Underworld." Preceded by 'Insufferable Bastards' 'The Irresistible Force Paradox' and 'Fire And Ice'. Disclaimer: I don't own Fruits Basket OR Akito Sohma from 'Creatures'. But I DO own Mitchell. *Complete*
1. Hook

**A/N: Okay, just a fair warning. Language and suggestive content. But I sincerely hope you all enjoy this latest (and probably last) installment of the Kris Akito war [Insufferable Bastards/The Irresistible Force Paradox/Fire And Ice].**

 **As a side note, I didn't want to put the lyrics in, but this chapter was heavily influenced and received inspiration from the song "The Heist" by X-Ambassadors. Please listen to the song, as it will enhance the feeling of the chapter.**

 **And a super duper special thank you to MoonlitAtMidnight (formerly known as TohruKyoYuki). So,** **my dearest friend. You remember when I said that there was a concept I was working on that was one-hundred percent inspired by one of your reviews? And remember when you reviewed on 'Fire And Ice', saying "** **You know what I would love to see? If there was a woman that appeared to be buying Kris' lies but really, she gets one over on him. That, would be awesome too."** **Well...this is it. Hope this makes you smile.**

* * *

Liquid charcoal eyes gazed out the bay window of the trendy cafe, surveying the bustling crowd of faceless people as they passed by on their various destinations. This city was teeming and simply overflowing with life that spilled from the doors of skyscraper buildings and bled into the city's sidewalks and streets. Hundreds of thousands of nameless souls on their way from where they had just been. Some ending the monotonous day of work, ready to put the tedious tasks of the day to an end. Some, the silent spectator could tell, were only now just beginning their day. _Truly_ beginning their day, having dressed themselves in such finery for an evening they had no intention of ending anytime soon.

But none of them were the face this silent spectator was waiting for.

None of them were _him._

So she continued to wait, searching the crowd. If the information she had been supplied with was accurate, in which she had been given no reason for doubt, the one she waited for would show himself soon enough. It was only a matter of time. And though the two had never met, she was assured that there would be no way of mistaking him. As her dark, ebony gaze continued scanning the infinite faces, the small smirk of a smile shaped her exotic, Asiatic features.

Even the casual, almost strategic mussing of his inky black hair could not hide the fact that behind this beautiful exterior lay a ruthless wolf. There was no doubt that the man stood out in the sea of sheep, having dressed himself in an expensively tailored suit paired with designer Ray Ban sun glasses, despite the dying light of a setting sun. The black fitted vest wrapping itself around his slender waist, the sleeves of his white dress shirt having been casually rolled to just above the elbows to give him a slightly more personable look. To set him apart. And this ensemble had only been further refined and separated from the mass of corporate suits and ties in the simple fact that the man had left the few top buttons of his dress shirt unfastened to reveal the delicate gold cross that hung from his neck. But this he seemed to sport with the effectiveness and power of any tie that would only have swallowed him up in this crowd of sheep.

But this man was no sheep. In fact, this man was no _man_ at all, but an urban predator. And tonight the predator had turned prey, becoming unsuspectingly hunted by the woman's obsidian gaze. She stood herself up from the elegant table of the cafe, relishing the way her short reveling skirt cinched and desperately clung to her thighs. Like the hungry grasp of a lovers fingertips. Fingers that she sought to make manifest all too soon along her pale milky flesh as she saw herself out of the garish establishment in her erotically high stiletto heels.

She had dressed herself for a kill mission, and now her target was clearly in sight.

Gracefully treading across the street towards her prey, moving closer towards his presence, the woman watched as he made for his phone, delicately placing a single ear bud as slender fingertips wrapped around the length of cord in order to masterfully manipulate the sleek microphone embedded within. As he began to conduct a one sided conversation, the man gave off an almost arrogant persona of speaking to himself. The woman took her time as she discreetly drew close enough to the man to finally make out the harsh words forced from his thin lips.

"You can't be fucking serious. Are you really _this_ fucking stupid? _Really_?" The woman's rudimentary understanding of English was enough to discern this man's distasteful, almost barbaric rhetoric that startlingly contrasted his breathtaking beauty. "That's what being under contract _means_ , Hunter." This came harshly snapped from thin lips held in a taut line of dissatisfaction.

The lull in conversation allowed the man to fish out a pack of cigarettes from his business trousers, claiming one as the pack was put back in its rightful place on his person. A hand cupped and curled thin fingers over the cigarette as he lit it, taking a slow drag before exhaling a breath of smoke. He held the cigarette delicately poised between his fingers as he reengaged the one sided conversation.

"You are _not_ a free agent. You do _not_ go around peddling your _shit_ to anyone you feel like just because you _think_ it will make you more money." He spat into the air. "Your ass is owned by Switchblade Records, and you make music for _me_." The man murmured, his tone dangerously low as he took another drag of his cigarette, releasing a slow whisper of smoke. "I _wrote_ your contract. Of _course_ I fucking read it." This came along the breath of a pause. "Did _you_..?" He deadpanned seriously through another drag of his cigarette and unnervingly calm passivity. "Or is it that you really _are_ just too _stupid_ to understand this concept?" This came in an almost aggressively feral hiss as the man's upper lip gave over to the infinitesimal quiver of a veiled snarl, raising the cigarette and tips of his well manicured fingers in order to hail a public vehicle for his departure.

As a vehicle finally drifted along to the curb to meet him, the man took a final drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the sidewalk and snuffing it out beneath his foot, opening the door of the back seat. Little to no attention was paid to the woman as she too, discreetly slipped herself into the back of this public transportation. A practice she thought not uncommon as the man monotonously offered up a destination. Resting the phone along his thigh, his hand coming to hover over it to keep it stationary, the man aimlessly gazes through his designer frames and away from her out the window of the vehicle as he continued his conversation in her unnoticed presence.

Without a second thought as the driver of the taxi slowly pulled away.

"Yeah, well you're a complete _moron_ if you think this little stunt of yours will pay off, Hunter." This came along the heels of another pause before the man spoke again, his tone growing colder with each threat. "Fine." He lilted dangerously low as the woman drifted just a bit closer in her seat next to him, attempting to remain unobtrusive. " _Go_ to Langland Productions." The man taunted, giving a casual, veiled glance to the expensive looking watch adorning his wrist. "They're office closes in thirty minutes." He deadpanned in challenge. "Lets see who can get to them fastest." Thin lips formed into the small twitch of a smirk that spread its way into an almost malicious, predatory smile. "I guarantee that when I reach them first...and I will...that any sort of deal that you made with them behind my back will go up in fucking flames."

As he continued to openly ignore the close proximity of her presence for the company of the disembodied voice, the woman gave herself over to a small sigh followed by the imperceptible shake of her head. These little boys were all the same...no matter _where_ she went. They always seemed to be more interested in dominating other men. Even, and sometimes most _especially_ , when in the company of a beautiful woman. Though she still failed to see the purpose of this ridiculous display, it was by no means a rare phenomenon. And it became woefully clear to her that if she wished this encounter to move in the direction she desired, she would need to take matters into her own hands.

Quite literally...

Slender fingertips began delicately ghosting along the man's leg. Soft, feather light touches that began unobtrusively along the knee to gain his attention and stir his arousal. When this didn't seem to deter the man from conducting his business she became just a bit bolder, her hand drifting seductively slow up and along his inner thigh. _This_ seemed to have the desired effect she had wanted. The slightest lull came over the one sided, hostile conversation as that veiled gaze slowly turned in her direction.

"Hold on..." This came lowly murmured through thin lips, followed by the slow tilt of the man's chin as an exotic pale blue gaze peered directly at the woman from just above those designer frames.

The light gnawing of his lower lip. A small sigh of consideration to her through a thin nose. The slight arch of a well groomed brow. And that pale exotic gaze flitted down to his lap where her fingers had seemed to make quite an impression.

"Something just came up."

The man's delivery came so perfectly straight faced. Only the lightest twitch of a smirk along the corner of his lips betrayed the sardonic humor of this statement before he turned away once more to give his full attention to the conversation at hand. His expression came stoic and slightly frigid as he addressed the disembodied voice along the other end of the line.

"But don't think for a moment that I'm done with you. Not by a long shot." The man murmured coldly, his tone cutting and ruthless as he spoke. "Your ass better be in the studio tomorrow morning." He warned, his voice dropped dangerously. "Because you and I are going to have a conversation you will _not_ enjoy." With this the man gave a gentle tug to the wire connecting the earbud, ending the conversation as a lull of silence filled the car.

"...so..." The low murmur of his familiar voice came a whisper to caress the silence around them as his fingers danced along the device on his lap, sending off a text message. "...what exactly is it that _you_ want...?" This question came with the small tug of a smile in response to the slow, creeping fingertips up along his inner thigh.

"I'm here on business." She lilted delicately in an exotic accent. "And you seem like a man who might know where I could go in order to enjoy myself while I'm here."

"Really..." The man lulled flatly, the tone of his voice veiling his interest. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"I was hoping for a recommendation on a nice place to stay." Her voice came delicately schooled through an airy, seductive lilt as her hand remained in his lap.

"Pity." Came this sardonically monotonous response. "It seemed like you were interested in something else." His voice betrayed a hint of disappointment.

"And what might _that_ have been?" Her voice came innocently naive before delicate lips shaped themselves into an enticingly sinful smile.

"A good time and a place to stay for the evening." He deadpanned through a small twitch of a smirk.

"Is that an offer, sir?" She feigned a masterfully constructed expression of coy surprise towards his boldness with the lightest dusting of pink along her cheeks as he gave a small shrug.

"Maybe." He murmured casually in consideration. "When do you have to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning." Her voice came an attractive lilt of response.

"And where did you say you're from?" The man asked with an air of curious indifference.

"...I didn't." She whispered with a playful smile.

"Excellent." This came almost purred from thin lips curled in a predatory smile, the man truly enjoying the air of mystery about this woman, along with the lack of any possible attachment as his fingers delicately brushed the skin of her thigh just below the hem of her skirt.

He didn't suspect a thing, and she knew then that she had him right where she had wanted him all along.

And now she could finally begin the task she had been sent to do.

The rest of the evening went exactly as she had planned. Filled with the brutality of pleasure spiked with pain as she allowed him to throw her body up against the wall and other unforgiving surfaces. There had been no hint or trace of affection in these vial acts as they waged full out war on one another's bodies, desecrating each others flesh. But affection wasn't what she had come for. That wasn't why he had been chosen. _Affection_ was unnecessary, because it was something that neither one of them had been looking for.

But both had been satisfied, regardless. Though the woman begrudgingly admitted to herself that she had not necessarily been satisfied the way her lover had. But none the less, she reveled in a job well done.

Untangling herself from him as his naked form laid in almost blissful slumber, the woman quietly dismissed herself to the bathroom to clean herself up. She had gotten what she had come for. She had finished him. Stepping back out into the darkened hotel room, taking stalk of the lateness of this hour and the evidence of her success, the woman's dark obsidian fell along the stranger in the bed as a soft, almost tender smile laced her lips.

Everything had gone as planned, and the whole time he hadn't suspected a thing.

Silently drifting her alluring body towards the bed, the woman placed something along the pillow lying next to him that had been meant for her. A single, black rose...and a note encased in an envelope. With the way this evening had gone, she knew that her employer would be pleased.

"This is goodbye, lover." She whispered to the sleeping form through that soft smile of hers. "I doubt that I will be allowed to see you again after this." In the silence that ensued, the woman made her way towards the door, allowing the man to enjoy his unfettered slumber before glancing over her shoulder to gaze upon him.

...just once more...

"And Akito-sama sends his regards." This lightly whispered farewell came followed by the soft click of the closing door as the room was once again plunged into darkness.

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 **A/N: Thank you all for reading, and hope you enjoyed this! And this chapter kicks off the final confrontation between Kristean Mitchell and Akito Sohma, so stay tuned!**

 **As a final note, another thanks to Fandom Angst for allowing me an open relationship with their characterization of Akito Sohma from "Creatures of the Underworld".**


	2. Line

" _In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then...in that very moment...I also love him."_

 _-Orson Scott Card_

 _Good morning, Mr. Mitchell,_

 _If you are reading this note, then I trust that you have had a most enjoyable evening indulging in the little 'gift' I've so graciously lent to you. Enclosed is an invoice for Isuzu's services, and I'm certain that you've already noticed the most generous gratuity added to your account in order to compensate for her evening with you. As I previously stated, I have no doubt that she has earned every cent, so I have preemptively taken the liberty of...assisting...you in expressing your thanks to her, as I have already assured her that you are a most generous man._

 _I_ _ **could**_ _inform you that_ _ **if**_ _you feel so inclined as to_ _ **not**_ _show your appreciation by way of refusal of payment, I_ _ **do**_ _have more unsavory ways of collecting. But such declarations are unnecessary between the two of us, no? Because we are men of principle, Mr. Mitchell. And standing on the mere principle of the matter that you owe me for services rendered, I hold no concern that your ledger will be resolved and cleared without delay._

 _Until we meet again, Mr. Mitchell._

 _-Akito Sohma_

...Six weeks later...

The small simper of a smirk formed along delicate lips as it began to grow along the memory of this note. This love letter. Though he feared the black rose might have been a bit _too_ theatrical, he found that he couldn't help himself. The impulse had simply been beyond him. But oh...how he wished he could have seen the look on his adversary's face. He wished that he had been given the opportunity to relish the little moments of this coup. When his enemy had partaken of the woman, taking his fill of her. When he had roused the next morning, completely satisfied. When he had discovered the rose and note revealing the terrible truth of how he had been played a fool.

But the man knew that to have given himself away, to have revealed himself in the moment, would have sullied his plan. In order to claim the victory he had wanted, his anonymity had been necessary. So he'd had to let his wild and somewhat depraved imagination serve in satiating this ravenous desire of his. He'd spent hours conjuring the expression upon Mr. Mitchell's face...the morning after.

Waking alone in the hotel room.

Discovering the rose.

Reading the note with the enclosed, detailed invoice as reality and the truth dawned along his features.

And the frightful tantrum Mr. Mitchell _must_ have thrown, cursing the man's name.

The man's lashes fluttered against the thought of what it must have _sounded_ like. His name being screamed from his enemy's lips. The whole image of it as it played through the man's mind was so terribly amusing. No no no...

No.

That wasn't it at all. The mere _thought_ of Mr. Mitchell's reaction was _beyond_ amusing. It was _fucking hilarious_.

Though he had penned the truth that he was unconcerned about collecting Mr. Mitchell's money, the man had not expected such a swift response in payment to be sent...for the _exact_ about he had charged. He had needed to sift through his ledger in order to separate Isuzu's tips, because he wanted to keep the check intact. The man had no need or interest in his enemy's money, so the check was currently serving a far more ' _entertaining_ ' purpose going uncashed, framed on the man's wall in his office. And every day that he saw it, it made him smile.

 _Fucking hilarious._

And he had found it so terribly difficult, at first, to stay away from Mr. Mitchell. He fought the urge to immediately gloat over this little victory of his. But the man knew if he were to have done _that_ , it would have somehow diminished the far grander coup he was planning now. Though he had intended on making this visit sooner it seemed that, for a time, the man found himself swept up in the personal matters of his own life.

Mr. Mitchell had been right about his lover and the filthy wretched girl that had been spending time with him at the estate. Going on a hunch from one of his other little jewels, the man had discovered the two of them _consorting_ in private with each other sometime last month. And it had become necessary to punish his lover for this betrayal. Harshly. But the man's punishment had left his bed cold and quite lonely for some time now. And his lover's absence had had somewhat of an unusual effect on him as the man's rage had lessened and subsided.

He began to miss him...but the boy needed to be taught a lesson. And the man found himself in need of a holiday away from this loneliness. He needed a distraction.

And the past week had finally left the man with a lull in his business and an almost irksome overabundance of time to himself. So it was _now_ that he had finally decided to make time to pay his nemesis a little visit. He found himself in need of some amusement, and a chuckle at his adversary's expense seemed like just the thing to lift his mood.

Finding Mr. Mitchell's current whereabouts had proven to be a bit of a challenge, though. And the man had spend most of his morning in this city tracking him down. His foe's woman, Miss Evans, had been less than helpful and not at all pleased to see him again. Which was to be expected, he supposed. He hadn't really anticipated a warm welcome upon his arrival, though he'd hoped that Mr. Mitchell would have been at his desk.

...but he wasn't...

So a morning spent mingling with Mr. Mitchell's personal assistant, some charming finesse, and with an enticing smile the man had finally managed to woo her into telling him where Mr. Mitchell had gone. And this was how the man found himself...stepping into the establishment of a private training ring. Though the building seemed startlingly empty, he could hear the muffled cacophony of sound from a distance as it grew in intensity with his approach.

Drawing near the source of terrifying danger, the man paused just behind the threshold of the main training area. A large open room filled with various fitness equipment. In the middle, a sparring ring with the floor below lined with safety mats. And off to the side, a full length suspended punching bag.

But _none_ of these novelties were what held the man's sick fascination.

A bare, muscular torso. Pale flesh glistening in sweat. A tone body engaged in almost constant rhythmic movements in time with the equally violent music filling the area. Limbs furiously lashing out to assault the punching bag in precisely controlled, calculated punishment. Each blow a cold contact kiss that reverberated along the heavy metal beat pacing this workout.

The man continued to take in this arousing display in secret as his enemy continued to systematically punish the training equipment in nothing but athletic shorts. And it was in watching Mr. Mitchell's body in motion that the man began to truly feel the neglect of his desires. In banishing his lover from his bed, the man had forsaken himself and his many dark and lustful inclinations. It had been so long... Since he had touched...or been touched. So very long...since he had been satisfied. Dark onyx eyes burned like liquid pools set in the flames of lust, and a tongue lightly darted out, wetting delicate lips as the man's Adams Apple bobbed in a hard swallow. But he couldn't falter now.

Not now.

Forsaking the sick, twisted cravings of his flesh, the man forced himself to maintain his focus. He couldn't afford dangerous distractions in the presence of his mortal enemy. He had not come to his adversary to satisfy this hunger in his body. No. The man found that underneath the varied stirrings of his depraved heart, there was something he wanted more. Something far sweeter than a lover's touch. He craved his adversary's end.

Finally stepping through the threshold in order to reveal himself, the man moved in slow strides. And still, his opponent was unaware and fully absorbed in his physical exertion. Stalking ever closer, like a lethal predator engaged in a hunt, the man persisted until he saw awareness finally dawn on his enemy. A small chuckle escaped him at the frigid ice blue glare of mild shock and rage that was thrown in his direction.

"You..!" This came growled in hostility above the music, and the man now openly gave himself over to boisterous laughter.

"Should I say 'fancy meeting you here'?" The man lilted through his chimelike laughter. "No, no. That simply doesn't fit this moment, does it." He relished the look on Kris' face, the same expression he had fantasized about over and over again so many times before. "I must find something better to say. What is that distastefully crude American phrase?" The man mused humorously with the light tapping of his well manicured index finger along his delicate chin. "Ah yes." An almost undignified grin spread across his beautiful features as he lilted in practically flawless English. "Surprise, motherfucker." And he could barely contain his amusement at the feral snarl twitching along Kris' upper lip.

"Get the fuck out of my gym!" This warning came over the music before Kris claimed a devise to mute the demonic sounds driving his interrupted workout, only for the silence to be filled and horribly marred with the sound of the man's theatrical laughter.

"My, my! What _ever_ has you so riled up, Mr. Mitchell?" This came lightly laughed through the man's devilishly seductive smile.

"You know _exactly_ what you did to piss me off." Kris quipped, his voice growing dangerously aggressive and overtly threatening. "Bet you thought it was real fucking funny to send me one of your whores." And the man delicately bit along his lower lip, quelling the torrent of laughter threatening to crawl through his throat.

"Only a little." The man murmured this concession through stifled laughter, attempting to constructed the resemblance of a serious expression.

"I could hear your fucking laughter all the way from here." Kris snapped in a violent hiss of disdain.

"Come now." The man cooed playfully. "Can you _honestly_ tell me that you didn't enjoy every _moment_ of your night with her?" This caused another veiled twitch of a snarl along his enemy's lip.

"That bitch fucking slapped me." This fell from Kris' taut lips as a snort of amusement slipped through the man's nose.

"Mm, yes." He fought against the threat of a smile. "I heard something about that." The man lilted, no longer hiding the smile unashamedly forming along his delicate lips. "But you really can't fault _her_ for that, Mr. Mitchell." He purred. "That was _my_ idea." And he watched as Kris' expression grew dangerously taut over this revelation. "I've told you before that I excel at uncovering the inclinations and cravings of those around me." His deep onyx gaze shown with something far more malevolent than his teasing. "And I had a theory that you might have a certain... _response_...to rough sexual contact." The man chuckled happily to himself. "Imagine how elated I was when my suspicions about you were confirmed." The simper of a smile turned absolutely diabolical along his angelic features. "Isuzu said that you rather enjoyed it..." He mused, lacing his smile with slender well groomed fingertips. "She told me that it generated _quite_ the response." The man persisted with his malicious taunting. "She also said that you were quite the ravenous animal with her, Mr. Mitchell." His dark onyx gaze flickered over Kris' body with a sick thrill as he delicately bit his lip in hunger once more.

"Get out." Kris' voice dropped dangerously low as he took a menacing step towards the man.

"Come now, Mr. Mitchell." This was cooed softly with a little more seriousness as the man lifted up his hands non threateningly in a gracefully beautiful show of submission to his enemy. "I didn't travel all this way to begin a quarrel with you."

"Then I suggest you leave and go back to your whore house and that little boy-whore." Kris quipped, relishing in the violent sting of this degrading insult as the man's mask faltered for a single infinitesimal moment to reveal his true feelings.

"Not that it's any of your business..." The man murmured, deepening his voice just a bit. "But...at the moment...my lover finds himself indisposed and unavailable to me."

"What?" Kris scoffed, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow as he gave a bemused snort. "Don't tell me you locked him up in some dungeon over that stupid girlfriend of his." He retorted, mentally reminiscing over the scandalous secret he had uncovered the last time he had visited this man's estate.

Silence. The slowed tilt of the head followed by that predatory obsidian stare. And the man's expression smoothed over into an almost frightening expression of cold nothingness before his voice reverberated along the deafening silence.

"...and what if I did...?"

"Then I'd say that's pretty fucked up." Kris murmured monotonously, seeming indifferent or unbelieving in the man's bold declaration as he began to walk away from the punching bag and make his way to the mats.

"Perhaps." The man conceded, gracefully sauntering behind Kris, finding his diabolical plan subtly changing with the serendipitous opportunity that was presented to him now.

"So what is it that you want...?" Kris deadpanned, his tone blunt and to the point as he ducked the ropes before sitting himself in the safety the ring, reclining as the man gazed down upon him from the outside.

"I've come to discuss something we _both_ want, Mr. Mitchell." The man lulled delicately, his dark predatory gaze coming ominous and penetrating as he spoke.

"Really..." Kris gave a dubious smirk to this with the small quirk of his brow. "Something we _both_ want...?" His ice blue gaze roamed over the man's appearance and almost delicate nature from where he reclined in the ring. "I kind of doubt that."

"Honestly, Mr. Mitchell." The man's tone came slightly terse in irritation. "Must you _always_ be this insufferably confrontational?"

"No." This came bluntly stated with the light shake of Kris' head. "But for you I make an exception." The man watched his adversary fight the makings of a malicious smile from his place on the mat. "You're just so fucking cute when you're angry."

"Likewise, Mr. Mitchell." The man quipped flatly in pithy response. "Now if you're quite done with this passive-aggressive childishness, I'd rather like to get down to business." And he watched in silence for a moment...waiting for another sardonic comment...only continuing when Kris remained silent.

"I've tried diplomacy with you, Mr. Mitchell." The man murmured lowly from his place outside of the ring. "I've tried threatening you." He continued, his voice deepening for dramatic effect. "And those closest to you." This came coldly murmured from delicate lips. "But none of this has seemed to deter your insufferable behavior."

"That's because I just can't take you seriously." Kris murmured with no hint or trace of jest, and the light bob of the man's head came in agreement.

"For once, I think that we are in complete agreement with each other, Mr. Mitchell. I, too, think that is what is truly lying at the heart of this little problem of ours." The man lulled somberly. "Which is why I think that my proposal might actually interest you."

"Really?" Kris murmured with growing interest as he cocked his head to the side, followed by another delicate bob of the man's head.

"What would you say if I were to meet you on _your_ terms?" The man asked in with the tentative furrow of his brow as a look of genuine bemusement shaped Kris' features.

"What?" This came in a breathless sigh of dubious confusion, and the man unintentionally wet his lips once more.

"Let me in the ring with you."

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you all for your support of this story! One more chapter to go! And this current chapter comes placed in time with chapter 15 of "Creatures of the Underworld," with reference to Shigure going to Akito about Yuki and Tohru. Some of this was also inspired by chapter 16 of said story. I hope you all enjoy, and stay tuned for the final chapter!**

 **And before asked. Nope. This is not, and will not be Yaoi. I don't do that sort of thing. Besides, Kris and Akito hate each other too much.**


	3. Sinker

He knew. From the very _moment_ these fateful words came uttered from his delicate lips, he knew _exactly_ what he was openly and quite brazenly offering to his enemy.

An opportunity.

And he saw clearly, even through Mr. Mitchell's strange emotional deficit, that his adversary was guardedly curious over this proposal of a sparring match. Cautiously enticed. And somewhat perplexed. Gambling with the odds in his enemy's favor, the man also knew that this would be an offer difficult for Mr. Mitchell to refuse. Because there was no way that the man could _possibly_ win against his foe in any form of physical altercation. He knew this.

...and so did Mr. Mitchell...

Yet the man watched as his adversary expertly exuded this all powerful aura of emotional indifference. That low emotionally was like an impenetrable wall. An immovable object. But the man found himself a ruthlessly unstoppable force when it came to this enemy of his. With great effort and peril, the man had managed to break the calm of that frigidly stoic demeanor before.

Once.

And oh...how he longed for the thrill of breaking his enemy's calm.

Just once more.

"You can't really be serious." Kris scoffed in a blank faced deadpan.

"I assure you, I'm quite serious." The man responded candidly. "Since you and I seem unable to resolve this little feud of ours as gentlemen, then why not finish it as savages?" And he bared witness to the infinitesimal flicker of thrill behind blue eyes before it was swept away and replaced by a monotonous reply.

"No." This rejection came coolly deadpanned through thin lips, causing the small twitch of a diabolical simper to form along the man's features.

He had anticipated his enemy's dubious refusal of such a blatantly questionable proposal.

"My my, Mr. Mitchell." The man's voice came taunting, laced in a sickeningly sugar sweet smile. "Are you truly _that_ afraid of losing to me?" He purred through the spread of that smile of his, followed by the shake of his adversary's head.

"I don't think you're playing on the level." Kris murmured lowly in response to this challenge of his pride, the bluntness of this statement causing the slight falter of the man's candy smile as the slow tilt of the head followed.

"Are you..?"

That predatory onyx gaze watched as his nemesis considered this fact. And it was...amusing. So very amusing, to watch Mr. Mitchell attempt to discern his underlying intentions. This little guessing game was becoming _almost_ as enjoyable as the one he was attempting to set into motion...if only Mr. Mitchell was willing to play.

"You don't really think you can win, do you?" Kris murmured with a sardonic side smile, that ever watchful, penetrating pale blue gaze persistently searching, looking to uncover the man's clearly nefarious motives.

And the man simply smiled in the face of his enemy's efforts.

"Well, that's debatable." The man murmured this lie through the simper of a smile and a small shrug of the shoulders, knowing full well that he had little chance of physically winning this match. "But you won't know that for sure, Mr. Mitchell..." He gave dramatic pause over the moment before repeating his baiting request. "...unless you let me in the ring with you."

"What exactly are you looking to prove by having me kick your ass?" That ever watchful gaze still searched for an answer that would make any amount of sense, his expression stoic and unmoved by any form of discernible emotion.

"...what are you up to..?"

"Mm-mn." The man purred playfully through the small shake of his head and coy little smile spreading along his delicately pursed lips. "If you want to see the cards that I am holding, Mr. Mitchell." His deep onyx stare fearlessly plunged itself into the frigid depths of that exotic blue gaze. "Then you must play the game, hm?"

A small snort of response dispersed the quiet as Kris finally stood himself from the floor to come eye level to that deep obsidian stare.

"Fine." This came coolly murmured through thin, perfect lips. "It's your funeral." And the man flashed an almost gleeful grin to his enemy's agreement, receiving a disparaging glance in turn. "I have an extra pair of athletic shorts." Kris quipped unamused towards the man's eager expression. "Change out." This demand fell flat from his lips. "I don't want you charging me for a new suit when I make you bleed."

"But of course, Mr. Mitchell." The man purred with a graceful, pithy bow at the waist before turning on the heels of his business shoes to dismiss himself to the changing room, the smile along his lips falling frighteningly flat as he turned away from his enemy.

Yes.

There was no way that this sparring match could end in his favor.

But then...that had never been the game he had wanted to play.

The man knew that there was no possibility of breaking his foe's body. And even if he could somehow manage that feat, the man found that he wanted to break something just a little more fragile. Something dangling a little more vicariously in the balance.

From the very moment he had sent that note revealing his treachery, the man had been paving the road to his enemy's ruin. And when he had finally shown himself to his adversary, he could see that this act of humiliation had somehow shaken Mr. Mitchell's precious calm. And though he had come in hopes of merely gloating over this victory, the man suddenly realized as he sauntered to the changing room that what he grasped now was far sweeter.

He had no desire to break Mr. Mitchell's body. Not when it would prove easier and far more gratifying to irrevocably damage his psyche.

Sifting through the contents of his enemy's locker in search of the spare athletic shorts, something hanging from one of the internal hooks bolted to the metallic roof of the private compartment caught his dark onyx gaze. A small gold cross suspended by a delicate, almost graceful looking chain. Slender fingertips stretched forth, tenderly caressing down the length of the chain to finally rap around the gold cross. And...for the briefest, fleeting moment, the man contemplated actually taking the prized necklace of his adversary. As a token trophy to remember this moment.

But...this action reminded him too much of his lover. The boy so loved and valued his precious inanimate objects, collecting them in his dilapidated tin box. Clinging to them with a child's desperation. And it vexed the man, how his lover could be so attached to these things that could never love him back. And he absolutely despised this trait in his lover. Letting the cross slip through his fingers with the pendulum's swing, a small sigh passed through the man's nose as he continued about the task of changing to dress in his battle attire.

He would strip this man of his faith.

Faith in a world of unshakable absolutes, where he believed himself to be king. Faith in the protection of his impenetrable wall of emotional numbness. Faith in the belief that he was truly and utterly untouchable.

Oh yes...he would _make_ Mr. Mitchell feel, then watch him writhe in the agony of his emotions.

Stepping himself from the changing room out into the larger area of the main arena, the man gave a small simper of a smile to his enemy. The man bared witness to Mr. Mitchell's festering impatience at being made to wait, having begun a slowed, predatory pacing in the ring. The man understood. Empathized. He himself had little patience, and detested being kept waiting, both in business and in his personal life. Something, it seemed, that the two of them shared a distaste for.

But today this small shared character flaw only caused the man's smile to twist into something just a bit wicked. He was rather enjoying his enemy's growing irritation. Finally noticing the man's approach to the ring, exotic pale blue eyes flickered with the thrill of this impending match. The only tell of any semblance of emotion behind that perpetually cool, stoic mask.

"Ready for me to take you to church?" Kris murmured ominously, the depths of his words matching his frigid ice blue stare.

"...pardon...?" The man questioned with the furrow of well groomed brows and the slight quirk of his head in genuine confusion to this cultural reference as Kris gave an almost imperceptible sigh of exasperation.

"Just get your ass in here." Kris quipped tersely, somewhat deflated by the ineffective show of intimidation as the man complied, dipping himself below the ropes to enter the ring.

"So do you even _know_ how to fight?" Kris asked monotonously, gauging the skill level of his opponent as he boldly turned his back on the man to step to the corner of the ring, and smoldering onyx eyes were allowed to drink in that delicate script the man had seen once before.

 _'One in the same'_

"I have some skill in self defense." The man offered this up nonchalantly, gaining a small snorted scoff of amusement from his enemy.

Though having uttered the truth, there was far more veiled beneath that simplistic response. So much more. When the man had been younger and far more recklessly ambitious in creating his precious underworld, it was really no surprise to him that the unscrupulous characters flocking to him were quite diabolically wicked. It had pleased him, to see such like minded men willing to align themselves in his various business ventures. And as he began to expand the services his estate offered to incorporate and cater to more...depraved...desires, the man was taken by slight surprise by the response from the community.

They loved him. They loved the sexual servicing they could receive in coming to his estate. And word of his budding underworld began to spread.

And with this growth came new business partners and promising alliances.

But the man had been far more reckless than he was now in his business dealings. The caution and wise discretion he expertly wielded in business and his personal life now had come by way of a hard lesson. In the form of a man who had wanted something more than simple business relations.

Though many of his patrons and business partners had expressed an interest in sharing the man's bed in favor of one of his whores, the man had swiftly declined all such offers. Most had been made in jest anyway, and had given him a source of amusement and an ego boost. But...there was one.

One man who had not taken so kindly to the man's rejection.

And...at first...the man had thought this business partner to be like the endless string of other harmless people the man had disappointed. It was only when the man's young lover returned to his bed one evening bearing marks on his slender body that the man suspected had been meant to be laid along his own flesh that the man's senses and intuition towards danger became heightened. It had concerned him enough to begin basic training in defensive Jiu-Jitsu.

The efforts of the man's self defense training had come to his aid not long after when this business partner had cornered and isolated him in one of the many dark halls of his home. The man had been attacked. Deplorable sexual acts had been demanded of him, the business partner having sorely mistaken him for one of the many whores he owned. And the man had been forced to defend himself.

Violently.

The incident had never been made public. The man had never spoken of it. To have done that would have made him appear weak and easily taken advantage of in front of unscrupulous crowds. To speak of it would have made him a victim...and he was _no_ victim. What he _had_ done, was deal with the matter swiftly in a show of overwhelming power in shaming the man by severing all business ties and permanently banning him from the Sohma Estate. News of this business partner's blacklisting from the establishment quickly traveled in hushed whispers and had the desired effect.

Though the offers still came from time to time...none of his business partners or patrons dared act upon them.

The light whisper of cracking and popping drew the man's obsidian gaze towards his opponent once more as he took in the sight of Mr. Mitchell gently stretching his neck, arms, and fingers to loosen up his lean muscular frame before a malicious predatory smile spread along his lips.

"I'm going to fucking enjoy this." Kris spoke through that vindictive smile promising pain as the man gave a sugar sweet grin in turn.

Crouching his slender frame at the knee as he slid his right leg out, the man lowered his center of gravity to stabilize and ground himself. Cocking one arm just behind his head in a fist, the other arm was gracefully extended towards his enemy palm out in a defensive gesture. And then...the man waited. Waited...for his enemy to go on the offensive. To approach, come near and attempt first contact. To be lured by the weakened appearance of this defensive stance.

"Shall we begin, then?" The man lilted this taunt with the slight quirk of his well groomed brow.

"Lets..."

The man had a fair idea of what to expect from his enemy. The display he had witness moments before against the punching bag had revealed that his adversary most likely relied more on speed than physical force. The man suspected that his opponent wielded this impressive speed in order to overwhelm and stun his prey...surprising them before moving in for the kill.

And knowing Mr. Mitchell personally...the man was assured that his enemy would utilize underhanded tactics to deceive him. To take him by surprise. So the man waited...watching as his nemesis circled around him in his crouched stance. Attempting to find an opening.

What the man hadn't expected. What took him aback. Was when Mr. Mitchell made the first move. This, the man had anticipated. But the moves had come so easily detected. Slow. Too easily deflected and lacking in any amount of strength behind the blows as the man lightly pushed back for separation before regaining a defensive stance.

At first, the man had thought that Mr. Mitchell was mocking him somehow. That his enemy still refused to take him and this match seriously and was going easy on him. But then the next attack came just the same. Slow. Methodical. Easily blocked as the man was pushed back before hands extended to push his adversary away again to the safety of an arm's length distance. Always keeping a distance. And it was then that the man began to understand what his opponent was really doing.

This was a test. His enemy was merely testing him. Attempting to discover a weakness in the man's defenses.

Another slowed incoming attack was effortlessly avoided with an open palmed deflection. The man gently tugged Mr. Mitchell by the wrist, quickly side-stepping his enemy as Mr. Mitchell followed through with an almost graceful stumble forward before that exotic pale blue gaze viciously flayed the man alive where he stood in yet another defensive stance. Waiting.

"Why what _ever_ is the matter, Mr. Mitchell?" The man smiled tauntingly from his position on the mat. "I thought that you had wanted to teach me a lesson?" This followed the small tilt of the head and that predatory gaze as his voice dropped for dramatic effect. "What's your hesitation?"

"This is suppose to be a contact sport." Kris muttered in veiled irritation, beginning to circle the man once more. "At some point you're going to need to make some fucking contact." He mocked this passive, defensive display as the man gave the diabolical simper of a smile.

"Really?" The man questioned in a playfully cheeky tone before crouching just a bit further into his stance, arm extended palm out tauntingly to his adversary, daring him to attack again as he gave a slight tilt of the head. "Very well, then."

The next attack came far more quickly than the man had expected, and deep onyx eyes dialed to black in response to the very real threat of danger. In a startled, instinctive act of self preservation laced in defensive training, the man's hand lashed out in an upper thrust to his enemy's chin as the other hand swung in a graceful backhand to Mr. Mitchell's face, causing him to quickly rebound and stagger back. The sound of this shamefully undignified assault on his adversary's beautiful features resounded through the quite of the arena before being swallowed up by the breathless pants coming from both men. And the look of expertly veiled shock along his opponent's face towards this unexpected backlash was enough for the man to break out into a satisfied grin.

"I only said that I might be at a _slight_ disadvantage in a fight with you, Mr. Mitchell." The man lightly panted this breathless gloat through the smirk of a smile. "I never said that I was unskilled, hm?"

Though he knew that he had just sparked a physical altercation he had no hopes of winning, the man took a great deal of satisfaction in his enemy's growing rage. The man could tell that his adversary was becoming increasingly agitated because he had underestimated the man's abilities. And that was _exactly_ what would bring about his enemy's ruin and the man's inevitable victory. By rattling the proverbial cage, the man hoped to rouse the monster lingering underneath the surface of his adversary's numb indifference. In breaking that ever present calm by systematically riling up his nemesis, the man was purposely luring Mr. Mitchell into increasingly unsteady territory. Clouding his thoughts and stripping him of his better judgment before waging all out psychological warfare.

And the man knew exactly what pressure points to seek out and exploit. What buttons to push...in order to bring Mr. Mitchell to his very knees and pave his wrenched enemy's downfall. But he had to be methodical in his actions. Slow in his relentless shaming and taunting. To stir his nemesis into a frenzy too soon would almost undoubtedly end in his own demise. Though the man was taking a calculated risk with engaging in this altercation, the end game was worth the expense of his physical safety. Settling himself into another stabilizing defensive stance, goading his opponent to attack, the man gave himself over to a small smile

The best part of this plan...? His enemy didn't suspect a thing.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, okay. I know what you guys are thinking. I had intended this chapter to be the last, but the expansion of Akito's character was a bit unexpected and unplanned. But I promise that this will be wrapped up in the next chapter, so look I hope you all look forward to the climactic showdown!**

 **Special thanks to my trio of reviewers!**

 **MoonlitAtMidnight**

 **SweetLiars**

 **Fandom Angst**

 **Thank you again, Fandom Angst, for your original concept of this diabolical Akito from "Creatures of the Underworld." I sincerely hope that I am doing him justice.**

 **And taking inspiration from MoonlitAtMidnight, a few songs that inspired this chapter were "S** **mackdown" by Thousand Foot Krutch and "Come With Me Now" and "Hey, I Don't Know (Why Don't You Tell Me)" both by Kongos and finally, "State Of My Head" by Shinedown.**

 **And thank you all who have read and supported this story and others. You guys are simply the best!**


	4. Epilogue: Point Of No Return

**A/N: So, this is what happens when I am left without a 'no' man. Someone really should have stopped this madness.**

* * *

 _"_ _A hunter must stalk his prey until the hunter becomes the hunted. Then the prey becomes the predator. Then the predator and the hunter fight."_

 _-Frank Underwood "House of Cards"_

"I only said that I _might_ be at a slight disadvantage in a fight with you, Mr. Mitchell." This came murmured in a breathless whisper laced in a smile. "I never said that I was unskilled, hm?"

And it was so beautiful to behold...his enemy's surprise. He had been underestimate, and his nemesis had paid the price, bearing the shameful rouge along his pale cheek where he had been struck. But the man knew that in having actually stuck Mr. Mitchell, his adversary was now roused. Stimulated. Heightened and aroused by the violent contact. And the man knew that this assault would not go unpunished.

He waited in his crouched stance. Watching...as his enemy circled him again. Thinking. Reassessing. Determining the next course of action. Planning the next move in this game of chess, their very bodies having been made pieces on the board of the training mats lining the ring. The physical assault had clearly made an impression. The man knew that...finally...his adversary was taking him seriously. And now the real game could begin.

The next attack came upon the heels of breathless speed and graceful agility, pushing the man back and out of the stable safety of his defensive stance. Each tag from his enemy expertly laid and focused along his defenses, leaving the man overwhelmed and barely able block and protect himself against the flurry of movements. Hands, palms, fists, arms, elbows, knees, shins, feet. His adversary knew to wield them all in such a terrifying fashion as to lay waist to his meager defenses. And the blows that he _couldn't_ see...he felt as they made efforts to seek out and violate softer targets.

In a swift, elegant move, the man tilted his frame back to avoid the onslaught from his opponent. Too late, he realized his error as his balance was foolishly sacrificed to his enemy. This mistake was ruthlessly exploited, his opponent heartlessly stealing his footing as the man felt his body helplessly manipulated and thrown to the floor. Winded and overcome with pain from the impact, the man barely registered that his nemesis had followed him to the mat. Pale blue met obsidian in a moment of dazed clarity as the man felt himself straddled, the weight of his enemy pressed against him as he felt his back forced further into the mat. His breath came in light, airy gasps as he drew in the intoxicatingly heady smell of the man positioned ominously above him.

With his enemy in a position of power and dominance, perched on top of him, the man knew that he was in peril. Yet this sense of impending danger only served to set a blazing inferno of thrill through his very being. He had never before been challenged in this manner. Never by his lover. Not by the endless string of patrons and business partners. All of them were such weak, pitiful sycophants. Easily bent to his every self serving whim. Never before had he been faced with such a challenge as this. Never before, had he come across someone so completely and frustratingly indomitable. Until now.

He found it exhilarating.

He found it infuriating.

In the end, peering into the depths of that frigid ocean gaze from the flat of his back, the man found that he simply couldn't live with the insufferable agony of his enemy's existence. The conflict it caused within him was too unbearable. And this searing pain only intensified in his body as the man felt his adversary curl himself closer.

"This is a good look on you..." This came maliciously whispered through the warm caress of breath along his cheek. "...lying on your back..." The icy, lowly murmured voice taunted cruelly in hollow monotone towards the man's position of vulnerability. "It suits you." Deep onyx eyes ever so slowly trailed up to his enemy's face as they drifted apart, and in that moment of silence the expression that shaped itself along the man's features came strikingly sensual.

"Hm..." This passive hum came delicate along the intentional bite of his lower lip as he gracefully poised one of his arms above his head, striking a pose much like a beautiful damsel pinned underneath a diabolical fiend. "I'm sure that my current position pleases you." This came through an attractive simper and smoldering lidded gaze before the man wrapped his thighs around his nemesis in such a way as to swiftly wield his weight and strength against his adversary to reverse their positions, throwing the full force of his slender body on top of his foes hips to pin him to the floor.

"But I'll have you know that I prefer to be on top." The man gave a cheeky smile, absorbing the irked expression along his enemy's face before being disgracefully dethroned from his perch along Mr. Mitchell's hips in an almost comically undignified manner.

Had he not been playing such a dangerous game with so very much at stake, the man might have found himself actually enjoying this sparring match.

From his place on the floor, the man witnessed his enemy's mounting vexation. The stress and strain of tensed muscles and tendons underneath perfect, pale flesh told the terrifying story of repressed rage. Clenched fists. Taut expression. Slowed pacing along the mat. Yet his enemy's features remained unmoved from that unemotional countenance. Steady, unyielding exotic pale blue eyes regarding the man in cold disdain. But his body...it told a different story. One the man read like pages from a dark and terrible book.

"Get up."

This came lowly murmured through taut lips in the insuring silence. Calm. Cold. A prompt violently demanding compliance. And so the man stood. Arms lax. Stance open and unprotected. Boldly facing his opponent, the man could sense the danger to come. Smell it.

So the man stood...and waited.

Expression grim, he made no attempt in defending himself as his enemy stalked forward. He was ready for this. Welcomed it. His dark onyx gaze never shying away from this threat, up until the very moment of impact. The rough back hand to his face cruelly coaxed an almost effeminate sound of pain from his lips as it snapped his head to the side and sank him to the ground on his knee.

Recompense.

Atonement for having struck his enemy first. Violence begetting violence as the score was settled though a barbaric language the man knew his enemy understood. Pain. Left stunned and dazed where he had dropped on the mat, the man accepted this punishment. Because it was necessary. That dark obsidian gaze drifted towards his enemy's face in order to take stalk of the fruits of his actions. And he saw it, fleeting as it was, as it swept along Mr. Mitchell's face. Unnerved. He was _unnerved_ by the way the man had simply taken the blow.

"Get up."

The man gave a shuddered breath through the throbbing pain in his head. Pushing himself past the pain and up off the mat from his knee, the man once again complied. The violent assault had stirred fresh reserves of adrenaline he needed to stand firm in the face of his enemy. Again, he saw the incoming attack, though this time the man raised his defenses to block this brutal onslaught. But the resistance he set against this attack did little to safeguard him as his defenses were shred through like paper before another hard slap to his face struck him to the ground. Again.

On the outside, the man began to visibly tremble, his eyes stinging with the threat of involuntary tears. But...on the inside... On the inside, he was smiling. Oh, how he smiled as he lightly sucked his lower lip, drawing away blood from the deep, painful cut. He smiled...because they could finally ceased playing Mr. Mitchell's game in favor of his own.

"Get up." This came cruelly taunted from his adversary's lips, yet this time the man elected to stay where he was.

His heart beat furiously within his chest, fueled by pain laced adrenaline that heightened his senses and awareness of his surroundings. His body ached from the abuse he had willingly endured. But he wasn't nearly done with his enemy. The absolute futility of his opponent's efforts gave him such amusement. And the man's inward smile began to manifest through the silence.

It started silently, at first. The trembling of his body building upon itself as he lay gracefully splayed, seemingly beaten on the floor. And when he could no longer hold onto his amusement at his enemy's expense, the man began to release breathless laughter that grew upon itself to fill the space with its unsettling sound.

"What exactly do you find so fucking funny?" This came in an almost feral hiss towards the man's laughter. "I told you to get the fuck up."

"And how is that working for you, Mr. Mitchell?" The man sighed through his dwindling laughter. "Telling me what to do, hm?"

"I said get. Up." This demand came through another strained hiss as Kris paced around where the man lingered along the floor.

"It must be so terribly difficult for you, hm?" The man purred through attractively swollen lips and the simper of a smile. "Facing an enemy who has no fear of you." He persisted through the trained lull of his elegant voice as his dark gaze fell to the mat in contemplation. "One that you simply cannot destroy or rid yourself of." The tone of his voice grew slightly somber as he found himself strangely speaking from personal experience as his eyes lifted once again to meet that pale exotic blue gaze. "I can't even _begin_ to imagine how frustrating that must be, Mr. Mitchell." The infinitesimal flutter of thick black lashes stifled and veiled the man's emotions and he gazed upon his enemy from the floor before his voice manifested in the breath of a whisper. "...for _you..."_

The man watched his nemesis give the imperceptible, almost animalistic curl of his upper lip. And he couldn't help but smile to himself at how spectacularly his plan was working against his enemy. Initiating confrontation, then refusing to reciprocate when your opponent was roused and riled up. He had taught his lover a similar seduction tactic that relied on the same basic principles of arousal and withdraw. Utilized with those patrons who enjoyed that form of tease. Though he had never before considered applying this particular seduction technique outside of the bedroom, he was amused to see the unfolding effects of its current, somewhat unorthodox application. It was fascinating. And it only served to further solidify the man's world view that everything revolved around or was directly related to sex...including combat.

And it was so terribly amusing to him as he watched it play out.

"I thought you wanted to fight in the ring." Kris goaded, circling the man like a predator craving to devour its unwilling prey. "And we can't _do_ that until you pick your fucking ass up off the floor."

"Oh, but I'm quite comfortable where I am right now, Mr. Mitchell." The man hummed, reveling in his enemy's frustration at being denied a physical outlet.

He watched man slowly become animal. But he knew that this animal had teeth. And he wanted the monster to bare its fangs. So he needed to push just a little harder. Coax the monster from its cage of emotional numbness. To release it from its confinement so it could come to play before it died by his hand.

...such a shame...

"Tell me something, Mr. Mitchell." The man lulled delicately as he reclined himself on the mat, completely at ease in the face of his enemy's steady decline into rage. "Is _this_ how you derive pleasure?" His swollen lips pursed seductively as he regarded his adversary through black orbs. "How you satisfy yourself, hm? Systematically and cruelly punishing those around you?"

"Only those who fucking deserve it." This came dangerously murmured through thin, taut lips as the man gave himself over to the curious tilt of the head.

"Did _Isuzu_ deserve it?"

The predatory pacing of his enemy slowed to a complete stop, offering the man a view of his enemy's back. The slight hanging of the head showcasing that enticing calligraphy along his adversary's shoulder line.

 _'One in the same'_

The man briefly mused over Mr. Mitchell's body art. Love and pain were the same thing to his opponent. He empathized. He understood.

"Come now, Mr. Mitchell." The man murmured, deepening his voice a bit to give way to the gravity of this moment in the wake of his enemy's silence. "I saw my poor Isuzu's body." He pursed his lips into the simper of a smile. "Had I known you would be _that_ rough with her, I would have charged you more."

"You don't care about what I did to her." This came a muffled whisper.

"No." The man responded honestly with the light shake of his head. "Not really." He lulled in concession to his enemy's back. "She's meant to be used. That is what she's paid for, Mr. Mitchell." An almost whimsical smile graced swollen lips as the man mused to himself. "Besides...I think my little Isuzu found you quite...charming. Said that she wouldn't mind taking you on as a regular client." This caused the slight tensing of muscles along his adversary's back.

And the ground beneath his enemy's feet began to tremble and falter as it grew increasingly unsteady.

Emotions and feelings were irksome and pesky. Dangerous even, to an extent, when they were blindly indulged in. They had the capacity wipe away clarity and cloud ones judgment. But they also served a purpose. Much like physical sensations, they could often alert one to impending danger. And, if one listened closely enough, this small whisper of intuition could act as a first line of defense in realizing something was about to go horribly wrong. That something had just been damaged.

...if one were able to listen...

Those who lacked this natural intuition, and did not feel things in the way that the world did, were stripped of this precious line of defense.

"When we first met." The man lulled softly to his enemy's back. "I remember that we had shared an interest in classic literature. Oscar Wilde, to be precise. Do you remember?" His voice came sinisterly wrapped in enticing velvet, continuing when there was a prolonged silence and a lack of response from his sparring partner. "I must confess that I also have a fondness for Greek literature as well."

"You would." This insinuating remark came snide and biting from his enemy, but the man effortlessly brushed off this insult as he continued to speak.

"One story in particular always sparked my fascination." The man mused to himself, gazing at his adversary's back. "The tale of Orestes." This came breathed through his pained, swollen lip as he slowly rose from the mat, finally standing. "A prince." The man took a step forward. "Waging a war and made fatherless." And another. "Driven to madness as he takes the life of his own mother, Clytemnestra." He gave himself over to a small, amused chuckle. "I rather enjoyed that part. It always left me so satisfied, that the treacherous little whore had finally gotten her comeuppance." The smile curled maliciously along his slowly healing lips. "I _do_ so love a good revenge story...don't you, Mr. Mitchell?"

The man stood, arm's length from his enemy. Yet that was close enough to feel it. The intense heat radiating off him, like sweat dripping from every pore. And it smelled of rage and misplaced anger.

"Tell me something." The man purred quietly behind his enemy. "I'm simply _dying_ to know." His expression grew somber as he drew from reserves for the final act. "When you so _spectacularly_ ravaged my little Isuzu...who was it that you were really exacting your vengeance on, hm?" He lulled softly, watching as Kris slowly turned to face him. "When you had her underneath you..." The man persisted, his tone even as his gaze met that of frigid ice blue. "...who was it that you were punishing, little prince...?"

He marveled at the fascinating way repressed emotions quickly rippled themselves along his enemy's face as he gave a fiendish, knowing smile. The button was _right_ there...and his entire being _ached_ to simply press it.

"Where did your mind go when you were making love to her?" He persisted, patiently waiting for the monster to emerge.

"That's really none of your business." Kris murmured coldly, his voice as frigid as his gaze as the man simply ignored this, pressing forward with the final act of this grand tragedy.

The man knew his enemy. How he worked and operated. How he thought. Because, the man knew, that when pleasure and pain were too tightly bound to one another it somehow twisted love into something darker and just a bit defiled. And, in the end, both pleasure and pain would inevitably ceased to exist, leaving a ravenous empty void in the human heart where love should be. The man had seen this times before in some of his more sadistic patrons. And he saw it now in his adversary.

"How difficult did you find it, hm...?" The man murmured gravely, holding Kris' gaze. "...while in the throes of such raw and violent passion..." He paced himself, coaxing out and taunting his enemy's darker nature. "...how difficult was it for you to avoid thinking of your mother?" The man boldly asked as Kris now gave an open sneer of rage as the man smiled triumphantly. "Just how badly did you want to scream out Danica's name?"

There was suddenly no space between them. The man's legs had been tripped up as he was mercilessly thrown to the mat. And every inch of his body ached and throbbed in searing pain as he was cruelly dazed and winded, his ears ringing with the force of the impact. Ringing that never ceased as is formed into a scream that bled into his hazed consciousness.

There were no more eloquent insults.

No more fowl, degrading profanity.

There was just a scream.

A raw, pained scream of a mortally wounded animal.

It was so beautiful in its agony. The man found himself momentarily moved with the way it hurt, watching his enemy consumed by the flames of his own self destructive rage. How he wanted to linger in this pain, for just a moment longer. But the monster had been wounded, and now it screamed for the mercy of his death blow. And the man raised his arms to comply. Swiftly cupping his opponent's face between his hands as his bruised, swollen lips forced themselves in the violence of a kiss, ravenous in searing heat and intensity as they crashed into the lips of his enemy to consume that terrifying scream. Swallowing it in the silence that ensued.

His enemy's body violently retched away from him, leaving the man in the throes of breathlessness on the floor as he witnessed the effects of this unexpected act of violation. His opponent was now completely unhinged. Every inch of flesh trembling and quivering with uncontrollable emotions that seemed to set his entire body in flames. Pacing, panting, that pale blue gaze frantically darting in all directions as fingers came clenched and unclenched. It was everything the man had wanted to see and more. The whole of it so beautiful that the man was overcome with laughter and delight.

"All that rage, Mr. Mitchell." The man gasped through breathless laughter. "And you _still_ can't bring yourself to destroy me." He continued to laugh as his enemy aimlessly paced in an almost frantic state. "How does it feel, to be so completely powerless, hm?" The man's body trembled with laughter as he gazed at his opponent from the flat of his back. "You can no more destroy me than you can destroy your own mother."

The swift retaliation came as his nemesis lurched forward with malicious intent, raising his foot in spite to viciously stomp on the man as he lay defenseless on his back. The man's onyx gaze dilated to black, absorbing the impending attack as his leg reactively jerked out to target his enemy's weakened stance. Sweeping his leg to clip his opponent's free standing foot from underneath him, his enemy crumpled to the floor beside him in an undignified fashion, harshly landing on his side with a resounding thud before rolling on his back in a pained groan.

The two laid there together on the mat, their chorus of breath the only sound as an almost peaceful silence wrapped itself around them. The struggle was over. The victory claimed. The war...won. And they breathed as one, the two having finally consumed each other. Leaving nothing behind of what was. What had been. And there was this strange sense of peace.

Finally.

Letting his head listlessly fall to the side to face his defeated nemesis, dark obsidian eyes took in the sight of Mr. Mitchell lying on his back with his face veiled by the protection of his forearm. And in retrospect, the man would find himself wishing that his enemy wouldn't have done that. Veiled the vulnerable expression of his face. The man wished he would have been allowed to see this before that veil was swept away with the removal of the forearm from his face as calm, expressionless features turned to silently greet him.

Cold.

Stoic.

Unmoved.

But at peace.

"So..." The man's voice gently stirred the comforting silence as his gaze playfully roamed his enemy before meeting that exotic stare once more. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" This came laced in an even more playful smile threatening laughter.

"Best I've ever had, babe." This quick, pithy comeback came in a perfectly executed straight faced response.

And the two fell back into silence. Laying in a strange staring match, gauging each others reactions as their expressions fought to remain stoically serious before both men broke out into tandem laughter. The sounds of their amusement filled the whole of the training arena before they fell into quiet once more.

"I should probably clean up." Kris mused to himself monotonously. "I'm taking Shawn out to 'La Bayader' tonight." He took in the man's mildly bemused expression and elaborated. "The Temple Dancer?" This clarification came in the face of the man's silence before Kris gave a shrug of indifference to the man's lack of comprehension. "Well, it's gotten rave reviews, and it's said to be Petipa's best work." Kris mused to himself before his thoughts where dispersed by the man's voice.

"Are you talking about _ballet,_ Mr. Mitchell?" The man asked in slight surprise with the furrow of his brow.

"Yeah." This came monotonously deadpanned as the man gave himself over to a light string of laughter. "What?" Kris quipped.

"Nothing." The man stifled his chortle of laughter. "I just never took you as one for ballet." The man smiled to his adversary.

"Not for ballet, exactly." Kris confessed through the slight tug of a cockeyed smirk. "But I have a pretty big thing for ballerinas." And at this the man gave himself over to another chorus of helpless laughter.

"Oh, Mr. Mitchell, you are simply too much."

"Well, if it's any good, maybe I'll take you to see it the next time you decide to show up." Kris offered seriously, and the man gave a small bob of the head along the mat in concession.

"I think I would like that, Mr. Mitchell." The man lilted as the two fell in suspended silence once more.

Though neither of them knew how long this moment might last, they reveled in the fact that finally...there was peace.

 **THE END**

 _There's a memory_

 _Of how we used to be  
That I can see_

 _Through the flames  
I am hypnotized as I fantasize  
Forgetting lies and pain  
But I can't_

 _Go_

 _Back_

 _The ashes call my name_

 _Pouring the fuel_

 _Fanning the flames_  
 _Breaking the habit and melting the chains_  
 _Embracing the fear_

 _Chasing the fight  
The glow of the fire will light up the night  
The bridges are burning, the heat's on my face  
Making the past an unreachable place  
Pouring the fuel_

 _Fanning the flames  
I know_

 _This is the point of no return_

 _It's uncontrollable_  
 _Such a beautiful_

 _Desire_  
 _There's something sinister_

 _About the way it hurts  
When I watch it burn  
(Higher and higher)  
Cause I can't_

 _Go_

 _Back_

 _The ashes call my name_

 _Pouring the fuel_

 _Fanning the flames_  
 _Breaking the habit and melting the chains_  
 _Embracing the fear_

 _Chasing the fight  
The glow of the fire will light up the night  
The bridges are burning, the heat's on my face  
Making the past an unreachable place  
Pouring the fuel_

 _Fanning the flames  
I know_

 _This is the point of no return_

 _I won't turn around_  
 _I won't turn around_  
 _I won't turn around_

 _Pouring the fuel_

 _Fanning the flames_  
 _Breaking the habit and melting the chains  
Embracing the fear_

 _Chasing the fight  
The glow of the fire will light up the night  
The bridges are burning, the heat's on my face  
Making the past an unreachable place  
Pouring the fuel_

 _Fanning the flames  
I know_

 _This is the point of no return_

 _This is the point of no return_  
 _This is the point of no return_

* * *

 **A/N: Lyrics in this chapter are from the song "Point Of No Return" by Starset.**

 **So...this concludes the really weird, twisted saga of Kris and Akito. The question to ask now...is what is potentially MORE terrifying. Them as enemies. Or...them as friends...?**

 **And I have to ask...does anyone even remember how this whole feud even got started?**

 **Surprise for MoonlitAtmidnight. The ballerina fetish made a cameo. That one was for you. You can thank me later.**

 **Thank you all to those who not only supported this particular story, but also the beloved die hard reviewers who supported this whole saga. You know who you are. And honestly, this would not have gotten as far as it did without your constant love and support. If I actually had one...I would thank you all from the bottom of my heart.**

 **Now...awkwardly...I will dismiss myself from this freakish stage. Thank you and good night.**


End file.
